


Nothing But Kindness

by Adsecula



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen, will add characters as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adsecula/pseuds/Adsecula
Summary: While mapping out the King’s Roads, the magicians of York stumble onto the gentleman with the thistle-down hair: not nearly as dead as everyone believed, although greatly weakened. Taking pity, John Segundus tries to reintroduce him into English society.But as the consequences of exploring Faerie slowly begin to trickle into England, all the magicians of York find themselvescornered by a chaos of changes which may threaten more than just their lives, and which will require more than magic to put to rights.





	1. Tea and conspiracy

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a response to a prompt found here!  
> https://jsmn-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1613.html?thread=1979213#cmt1979213
> 
> WARNING: This story will contain various characters both from JSaMN and The Ladies of Grace Adieu.  
> No pairings: more of a 'everyone eventually becomes friends' story?

**Late spring 1817**

One cold morning, in spite of the heavy showers of rain, a small crowd of visitors gathered at the gates of Starecross Hall. Any passer-by would have been much surprised by the content of this crowd: there were gentlemen of local standing, old men and pimple-faced youths, shopkeepers, sailors and lawyers, and a rather fierce-eyed young lady apparently accompanied by an old vicar and his miserable-looking grey dog.

In short, these men and women had but one thing in common among them: they were all members of the Learned Society of York Magicians.

It had been quite a journey for some of them, as the house was located up in the far north of England, and in a rather remote village at that. Many muddied coaches stood as testament to the arduous journey, left along the village’s run-down road, with tired horses still patiently awaiting the hay-scented warmth of a stable.

The visitors had arrived after a heated discussion in which (to the surprise of nobody who has ever known a magician) no satisfactory resolution had been reached. Yet they had somehow managed a tentative truce, all in their desire to propose a new and exciting idea to the one person they felt could reply with adequate precision.

You see, for its entire dilapidated look and out-of-the-way location, Starecross Hall was home to one of England’s most promising magicians, the kindly Mr Segundus. 

***

 

The wilderness of England is never a lonely place. Even on the wettest of days, insects will still cross their tiny earthen paths and birds will huddle within the shelter of heath and heather, while the flowers close their delicate cupped faces.  A thousand different languages, all tapping to the rhythm of the rain.

A clatter of clawed feet was making its frantic way through the fields. It was a strong young rabbit, though both tired and terrified. If it did not escape its pursuer quickly enough, it would soon be eaten and its bones would be left to nurture the soil.

So leap the rabbit did, right through the thin veil of magic surrounding Starecross, into the safety of sunlit Faerie.

***

 

As the morning went on, the magicians were one by one admitted indoors. Servants had already been hastily sent out to retrieve more refreshments for the unexpected guests. Some of the magicians remained standing at the entrance hall. Others were bold enough to try exploring the various corridors and unlocked rooms of Starecross. A few ruddy-faced men had even opted to await any fresh news from inside a local pub, where the surroundings were warmer and more likely to quench their thirst properly.

Only the vicar was still outside, roaming the surrounding moors with his dog.

Yet those who really mattered to Mr Segundus were all hidden inside his downstairs kitchen, sitting together at a weathered table of oak.

There near the fire sat Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot, his oldest friends and champions. In the shadowy corner reclined Mr Childermass, a sharp-minded magician himself and a man of singularly dry wit.

Until recently, Childermass had been a veritable obstacle for Mr Segundus, until the extraordinary events surrounding the disappearances of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell had brought them together as allies. There was not enough trust yet to wash away the bleak helplessness Mr Segundus had felt when dealing with Childermass, but already they had come a long way towards a better understanding of each other.

Of course, there next to Childermass sat Vinculus too (a man of questionable hygiene and personal habits), whose skin bore upon it magical blue markings: words of the Raven King himself, in his own written language, still largely undeciphered. Mr Segundus was not particularly fond of _that_ man, but he recognised the immense and unique value of his status as a living book of magic.

It would have been more exciting had this little company been in the midst of a candle-lit meeting of powerful conspirators (as all the magicians upstairs were imagining). What they were in fact doing was dining on freshly buttered buns and hot tea*.

_* Apart from Vinculus, who was drinking wine and dipping the buttered buns in it._

However, even amidst the warm comforts of friends and breakfast, Mr Segundus felt overwhelmed by the reason why so many magicians were currently swarming Starecross.

It loomed over his consciousness, the grand idea of exploration they were putting forward. Oh, how it made him shudder in both anticipation and dread!

Theirs was a very bold proposition, he admitted, as ideas went: to map out the King’s Roads in Faerie.  

***

 

The lands of Faerie are more abundant in life even than fair England. You see, what is more ancient than hills can grow very hardy indeed: difficult to defeat, but nigh impossible to kill.

A passing fox panted heavily, shaking droplets off its back, confused by the sudden heat and sunlight. It had been chasing a tenacious rabbit, through gloomy dale and glen and field, but had lost its quarry when the small creature ran off into this unknown place.

The fox stopped and perked up its ears. It whimpered.

Something very old was stirring back to life on this fine spring morning and it was not only in pain – it was in a terrible rage.

The fox fled, with a leap and a skip, back into the safety of rainy England…

… And came face to face with the vicar’s dog.

***

 

If Mr Segundus was willing to admit it to himself, he thought that mapping out the King’s Roads was a perfectly sensible idea. Faerie had but recently renewed its connections to England. Many paths that had been forgotten throughout centuries of disuse were now slicing through the land, as surely as needle-thin knife through over-ripe fruit. It would be well for everyone to know where each segment of the King’s Roads led. And yet…

 ‘Please forgive me’, Mr Segundus said, his thin voice almost in a stutter. ‘I do fear this whole business is quite out of the question, at least at this point in time. We hardly know what to expect out there. Perhaps next year, or the year after the next…’

‘The year after the next?’ The low voice of Childermass laughed from his corner of the room. ‘Magic has returned to England! You cannot control the tides of change already sweeping over our world. Norrell tried - that was his great folly.’

‘Oh, but that is _not_ a fair comparison! I do not wish to limit anyone! But can’t you see how they are all milling about the place?’ Mr Segundus exclaimed, waving in a circle towards the imagined locations of his houseguests. ‘Would you be able to sleep soundly at night if we told every magician that they could just freely ramble off into Faerie?’

Childermass shook his head lightly, smiling at the smaller man’s irate expression.

‘Do you imagine that anyone who has arrived here will stay put indefinitely, sitting in their homes and awaiting your notification that it is safe enough? I find it very unlikely. Their pride will not allow it.’

‘They _shall_ listen to a logical explanation’, Mr Segundus sighed, as if willing himself to believe it. ‘The Learned Society of York Magicians is, after all, an organisation of _reasonable men.’_

‘And _women_ , it seems’, Mrs Honeyfoot remarked with a sniff, her face not radiating full approval.

‘I suppose so. The vicar’s daughter does come to every meeting, after all.’ Mr Segundus’ face froze in sudden horror. ‘Oh, I do hope that dog isn’t inside. I wouldn’t put it past doing something ghastly on the carpets. Perhaps I should go check in on their whereabouts...’

Childermass stopped him with one terrible look in his eyes.

‘No excuses, please. Mr Segundus, you must have some long-term plan for dissuading our magicians from wandering out alone, if that is indeed your intention. Do you even know what you intend to tell them _today_? They are, after all, expecting us to come up and offer them a chance for glory.’

‘Yes! Yes, I do know what to say, thank you very much! I will apologise for their wait and explain that one day, when we have gathered enough intellectual resources to navigate safely, we will draft up a proposal to the Parliament and -’

The room let out a collective groan.

‘Not a good plan, I take it?’ Mr Segundus said, biting his lip.

‘Hardly adequate’, Childermass replied, absent-mindedly stopping Vinculus from pocketing a silver spoon into a shabby-looking coat he always wore.

‘Well’, Mr Segundus cried out in frustration, ‘Does _anyone_ have any other suggestion?’

‘Yes’, Childermass replied promptly. ‘Propose them a short walk just within the borders of Faerie. We need to keep them busy, before they decide to take matters into their own hands and stir up all sorts of trouble.’

‘Why do you think that this outing will not merely heighten their thirst for walking the King’s Roads?’

‘Oh, it will, it most certainly will. However, if there is one thing I know about magicians – they will spend the next weeks writing up new publications. The interested public will spend the next month reading about them. We minimise the number of possible breaches into Faerie. This buys us enough time to create a solid outline of the safer roads.’

‘We should pick out a choice selection of men for this expedition’, Mr Honeyfoot mused aloud. ‘A few brave gentlemen who are able to show some real magical prowess.’

‘No. We only need men sensible enough to avoid danger.’

‘Why do you think any proper gentleman would want to go looking for danger in Faerie?’

‘Oh, you would be surprised, Mr Honeyfoot.’

Vinculus bared his rotten teeth into a grin and conspicuously whispered: ‘Say, anyone heard from good old Lascelles recently?’

‘Point taken’, Mr Honeyfoot shuddered.

They still had not found out what had befallen Mr Lascelles, one of Norrell’s closest associates. He had last been seen heading out towards a dreary fairy castle. They rather doubted he was currently enjoying a life of magical splendour.

Childermass glanced at Mrs Honeyfoot, who now looked visibly concerned at the prospect of her husband visiting Faerie.

‘I propose you two stay at Starecross’, he offered, not unkindly. ‘Try to ease any tensions which will doubtlessly arise. You will stay put, too, Vinculus - and try not to pilfer anything from our host’s home.’

‘And I?’ Mr Segundus asked.

He knew he was more suited to writing about magic than having an adventure. He was content with this knowledge about himself.

The only detail that made him wince was the thought of staying behind to deal with magicians like old Dr Foxcastle and his friends. They were obstinate fellows who would surely insist on being included in the expedition, especially if _Childermass_ would be going. They did not really approve of magicians of lowly birth or disreputable social standing.

The long face of Childermass took on a peculiar expression.

‘Why, _you_ , Mr Segundus - you will be leading us.’

Mr Segundus sat down abruptly.

***

 

The vicar, whose name was Mr Redruth, was very confused. There had been quite a ruckus and he was not quite sure what to make of it. A fox had careened out of nowhere into his dog; chaos had reigned for an ungodly few moments. Then the fox leapt away, his dog stumbling after it – and both creatures vanished.

The vicar was not much of a biologist, and did not claim to know anything about foxes, but he fancied he knew that dogs did not just turn into thin air.

He hoped that the magicians were not playing some silly game, or he would be forced to become quite cross, whether it would embarrass his daughter or not!

‘Roland?’ He called out for his terrier, peering through the rain, already annoyed at all this nonsense. Thus the good vicar stepped briskly forward, into sudden sunlight that blinded his eyes.

The grasses of England rustled behind his steps and stood still. Just as quickly as their altercation had taken place, all three were gone: man, dog and fox.

The rain continued to patter against the vastness of the moors.

 


	2. In the face of the unknown

**Late spring 1817**

The expedition of magicians set off at noon that very day, amidst much excitement.

Those who were not able to participate had gathered around the entrance of Starecross. Some of them imparted last-minute advice to their friends, while others sulked, bathing their low spirits in the dank mires of disappointment. The servants were all at the windows, waving their handkerchiefs brightly.

‘Stay on the road, sirs! Never leave the road!’

‘And always keep a sprig of holly near!’

‘Send my best wishes to Strange and Norrell when you join ‘em!’ yelled Vinculus, taking a long swig from a bottle of whiskey that Mr Segundus vowed at that moment never to touch again.

Of all the magicians, only one sat on the stairs in utter silence: Miss Redruth, whose countenance looked dejected beyond any reasonable level. She had been quite adamant to join in, but none of the magicians had wished to include a young unmarried lady into such a hazardous venture, at least not without the approval of her father - who had fortunately gone off somewhere to walk his dog. Everyone privately gave thanks to the vicar for this unusual stroke of luck.

‘You must record _anything_ unusual you see’, Dr Foxcastle was saying, with the air of a schoolmaster dealing with a particularly dim-witted class of pupils.

Childermass had replied that they would do their outmost best to write everything down in such a way that Foxcastle might understand it. The dryness of this remark was lost on the recipient of it.

Surprisingly enough, it was Mr Honeyfoot who had done wonders with placating that particular old gentleman. He had expressed keen concerns about Dr Foxcastle’s safety; he had delivered heart-felt monologues about the numerous losses that English magic would suffer if anything untoward were to happen to his person. Mrs Honeyfoot had assisted by wringing at her sleeves, sniffling at the very thought of poor Mr Foxglove becoming a victim to some horrible act of unnatural magic.

In the end, such was the Honeyfoots’ success that Dr Foxcastle not only ended up returning to the house with his pride intact, but also with his head held high and a smug spring to his step.

‘Well done! Honeyed words, arriving by quick honey-feet’, Mr Segundus quietly congratulated.

Mrs Honeyfoot giggled, giving Mr Segundus a parting peck on the cheek before leaving. She had promised to help his household in organising a dinner for the remaining guests. Mr Honeyfoot had walked with his colleagues a while longer, stopping only at the very edge of the gates.

He cheered the expedition on as they waded away, through damp muddy streets and towards the grand adventure that they believed awaited them.

Before they crossed the new village bridge (the old one having been destroyed on the very day of Mrs Pole’s liberation from the spell binding her to the Faerie kingdom of Lost-Hope), Mr Segundus gave the house at Starecross one last glance.

It filled his heart with warmth in that moment: the old and weary house, so full of its own creaking mutterings and familiar peculiarities. A house that had unexpectedly become a home to him, such as Mr Segundus had never known before.

‘We’ll be seeing each other again soon’, he promised it.

He felt a hand gently land on his shoulder. It was Childermass.

‘Ready?’

‘As much as I can be.’

‘Calm?’

Mr Segundus laughed and gave a sheepish little grin.

 ‘Good’, Childermass said, without a smile in return. ‘It’s but a poor magician, or a soon-to-be-dead magician, who cannot keep his wits about him in the face of the unknown.’

Mr Segundus gulped.

***

 

Mr Redruth was a very unhappy vicar. The road had been going on and on for hours, twisting and turning around sombre hills and melancholy valleys, and he still hadn’t seen his dog anywhere.

He reached a forest of dark trees, which sheltered him from the unnaturally bright day. Some of the trees looked taller than mountains, while others appeared smaller than his thumb. It was all very odd. He could see a lovely golden field beyond the forest, glimmering far in the distance.

He wanted to go home, but he had forgotten where that had been. He knew his children would be worrying, but he couldn’t quite recall their names. He had been searching for something, something small and precious to him, but he no longer knew what.

Mr Redruth’s heart hurt with the keening desire to know.

Without thinking too much of it, he took out a little knife he usually used for cleaning out his pipe.

There was a story, wasn’t there? He’d told it to his children before tucking them into bed. What had it been? Little lost children, walking through the forest, leaving breadcrumbs for the birds to find them? Or was it the birds who had eaten the crumbs without thanks, and had left the children all alone in the wilderness?

Yet he knew his children were safe, and it was _him_ who was lost in the woods…

Mr Redruth hummed a merry tune, and carefully cut off his coat buttons one by one, dropping them slowly as he walked. It was a forest of such great and magnificent presence, that he rather felt as if it were watching him as he passed. He patted the trees occasionally, admiring their growth and ignoring his mounting terror.

A rustle in the grasses.

Mr Redruth turned. His mouth formed an ‘O’ of great surprise.

He had a visitor on the road.

It had a great long tail, which twirled and twirled - but this certainly wasn’t an animal.

It had a long, unhandsome face with clever eyes and a large thin nose - but this certainly wasn’t a man.

It wasn’t any sort of creature he had ever seen before. It had arms as scrawny as sticks, with knobbly hands, in which it was carefully holding out all the buttons he had cast off.

‘Oh’, Mr Redruth said, feeling light-headed. ‘I’d meant for those to stay on the road, actually.’

The little black thing dropped the buttons as if they were poisonous, watching them scatter all over the woodland floor.

‘You haven’t any notion of where this road might be heading?’ He inquired, feeling oddly fuzzy inside his head.

It stared at him impassively.

‘Is that the way out?’ The vicar asked next, pointing towards the depths of the forest.

The little black thing scratched at its chin, as if deeply thinking the matter over.

‘I do rather want to go home, you see.’

Its ears perked up and its face took on an amazing transformation. A hungry sort of eagerness enveloped its features, and it pushed and pulled at the vicar’s sensible dark clothes, tugging him towards the distant field.

‘Oh! You do know the way!’ Mr Redruth sighed, overcome with relief.

The little black thing trotted on without saying a word of explanation, its expression pleased and its tail high in the air.

The vicar followed it, leaving behind both his buttons and the safety of the road.

***

 

One question that had plagued the Learned Society of York Magicians ever since magic had returned to England was how to accurately reveal an area of supernatural influences.

There were many known sites across England which had connections to Faerie. A few of the Society’s magicians recently had been putting together a dictionary of place names which could be linked to localised magical activity, a work which would take them over fifty years to complete*.

* _For it was a difficult task on its own, even when not connected to various misconceptions, linguistic oddities or downright fraudulent claims. For example, the town of Ravenglass disappointingly contained no connections to the Raven King; likewise, in later decades, despite the many fantastical stories of London’s artistes, the only occurrence of a Green Fairy at their gatherings turned out to be the Swiss absinthe they were guzzling down._

Mr Segundus himself still keenly examined whatever written sources he could lay his hands upon, English or foreign, even if he was painfully aware genuine accounts were scant and difficult to find.

Childermass on the other hand put the most faith in stories shared by the elderly. He thus shook away with confidence any qualms the better-educated gentlemen were currently voicing about his choice of route for their adventure. Their objections, it seemed, were as inconsequential to him as the raindrops pouring over his drab coat.

‘See there? That faint difference in the sky?’ Childermass eventually pointed out, standing to halt. ‘That’s our pathway. That little meadow in the dale should be safe enough, too. The older shepherds hereabouts did tell me their grandfathers used to lose flocks there, but I found no stories of anything vicious coming out from the other side.’

They did see what he had spotted, hidden out there in the moors: a faint outline of sunlight across the dale, glimmering through the rain like a portal. It made Childermass look the picture of a hero of gothic tales, such a wild dark thing standing against the backdrop of the fairy doorway.

‘We have to walk all the way there?’ Mr Taylor (a young lackey of Dr Foxglove) objected. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to conjure a path into Faerie through a mirror, as Mr Strange so famously did?’

‘Of course. By all means, magic yourself into Faerie. Be sure to let us know where you land, if you should ever manage to get out. I mistook you for a cautious man, Mr Taylor.’

‘I am!’ Mr Taylor bristled. ‘I just meant, it’s so very _wet_ out here… I didn’t imagine catching a fever as the best way to pursue a magical occupation.’

One of the magicians, a little man named Tantony who worked as a brewer in Nottinghamshire, laughed and clapped Mr Taylor across the back.

‘What’s a little stroll in the rain to men like us, eh?’

Mr Taylor shrugged wordlessly, feeling embarrassed. Childermass raised an eyebrow at the company, faintly shaking his head before he marched on towards the anomaly in the moors. The rest of the company gingerly followed, grumbling as their boots slowly sank into the mud.

‘I know we have precious few books to go with – but should we really be taking stock with old wives’ tales?’ A second man whispered to Mr Segundus.

‘I trust his judgement. I myself am already feeling a bit of a headache, which does confirm to me that we are near _something_ of significance’, said Mr Segundus, whose magical sensibilities were sometimes not easy on his physical well-being.

His discomfort only increased as they approached their destination, until he feared he would have to give up on the whole journey. At one point, he closed his eyes shut and had to ask Tantony to lead him. Just when he felt tears of pain gathering at his lashes, and wished to shout out that he could not take it any longer, a sudden popping in his ears informed him that they had passed through.

He heard a yell of surprise from one of the magicians and bumped into Tantony, who suddenly held him back from walking on further.

The headache subsided, just as quickly as it had formed.

Mr Segundus opened his eyes.

They were on an old cobbled road, wide and magnificent even in its deteriorated state, wholly surrounded by sunshine and unfamiliar dark hills.

‘Better step back’, Tantony said, in an unusually squeaky voice.

Mr Segundus looked down. The two of them were standing at the edge of the road, the tips of their toes overlooking a cliff of vast depth. At the bottom, they could see several vaguely inhuman figures slowly ambling over a lonely-looking shore, itself lapped at by a lake of grey and silver.

Both magicians quickly retreated backwards.

‘Oh my word’, Tantony kept saying. ‘ _Oh my word_.’

Mr Segundus nodded fervently. One minute into Faerie and he’d almost died!

‘Everyone in place?’ Childermass asked, weaving through the small crowd of baffled magicians.

‘We were walking and nearly fell off the edge when we crossed over!’ Tantony barked. ‘We felt no warning at all!’

‘Then it’s good you were not running’, Childermass retorted, seeming unimpressed. ‘See, gentlemen, this is no Yorkshire game that children may play! You must keep your eyes opened at all times.’

Mr Segundus hung his head in shame.

‘Where shall we be heading to next?’ Mr Taylor wanted to know. ‘I don’t think those persons down there could hear us, even if we called out.’

‘Leave them be! We are not looking to attract attention’, Childermass said quickly.

His sharp eyes scanned the road ahead. It forked in several places, some of which looked more foreboding than others. One place had a pile of skulls toppled across it, forming a crude wall. Childermass imagined suggesting they explore this particular branch of the road, and allowed himself a private smile of dark amusement.

‘There’s a clean-looking road there, to the right’, he finally decided. ‘I suggest we follow it, exercising _all due caution_.’

The group strode forward in a worried gaggle, taking in the strange landscape around them. Even the clear skies and sunlight were disturbing, though they were bright and beautiful – for the magicians saw no sun from which such light might be coming from.

Childermass discreetly motioned for Mr Segundus to hurry.

‘Follow them and watch that they don’t do anything rash’, he added. ‘I was afraid they would be too confident, now I’m hoping that they stay calm enough not to run off.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’m staying to leave a few spells up’, Childermass replied. ‘We’ll want to know if anything is following us, or if the road has been tampered with while we were gone.’

‘You think there’s a chance of that happening?’

‘I think not, but I am feeling none too trusting of this place.’

‘Me neither’, Mr Segundus said quietly, holding his satchel of papers and books closer to his body. ‘I suddenly feel as if something terrible is about to happen.’

Childermass raised his eyebrows - not in disbelief, but in wonder.

‘All the more reason for us to shorten this trip’, he murmured in response. ‘Don’t alarm our friends just yet. Take out a bit of charcoal and map down what you see together, then we’ll pull back towards home.’

Mr Segundus nodded and hurried off after the others.

Childermass furrowed his brows in deep thought. He raised his hands and formed the correct patterns for a simple spell of warning and protection.

***

 

A friction of fresh magic was close in the air - so very, very close. This was new, this was _welcome_.

A gasp, a heaving panting of breath.

It was difficult to think, to remember, to exist - to have any form that was not slowly trickling away into the hills and stones and sky.

It - he - wouldn’t last much longer.

His mind nearly ebbed away into nothingness.

And yet… And yet…

A thought came: _Perhaps this change will be enough to save me._

Without strength or expectations, he waited, the darkness swallowing any other thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short note on the minor characters appearing in this chapter, if anyone has a memory as spotty as mine when it comes to names:  
> \- Tantony is a brewer from Nottinghamshire, financially tricked by Drawlight into thinking he was receiving written lessons in magic from Mr Strange himself. I felt sorry for him because everyone was being very snobbish towards him, and so thought he deserved to become a real magician in time.  
> \- Mr Taylor is Dr Foxcastle's acolyte, he was sent to tell Mr Redruth the vicar not to take his family members to Society meetings. It turned out that his daughter was in fact the magician, and he was merely accompanying her.  
> \- The little black thing which Mr Redruth encounters in this chapter is the fairy Tom Tit Tot from Susanna Clarke's short story 'On Lickerish Hill'.
> 
> A big thank-you to anyone reading this story! The plot will begin to pick up in the next chapter. :)


	3. A helping hand

**Late spring 1817**

A mist had begun to creep over the lonely meadows of Faerie. The preternatural light still shone through it, giving a soft milky glow of neither day nor dawn nor dusk.

‘Oh, this is not good’, Tantony was complaining. ‘Now we can’t even see where we’re going!’

Mr Segundus was struggling in particular: he was walking at the head of the throng, to better jot down his surroundings and watch for any trouble. An itchy feeling was floating through the crevices of his mind; he felt he was on the verge of some great understanding, if only he could spare a moment to gather his thoughts.

‘What now?’ Mr Segundus heard someone demand.

Looking up from his map, he saw that the road ahead split apart into several new directions, each dwindling away into narrow twisting paths. Several tall trees above the magicians marked what might have been the beginnings of a forest.

‘Oh no’, Mr Segundus groaned. He motioned for everyone to slow down.

‘I don’t want us to go any further without Mr Childermass’, he explained. ‘Imagine if he arrived and could not tell which road we had chosen. He would be very annoyed, I am sure!’

Childermass was namely still out of sight, whistling a melancholy little tune and slowly catching up with the group. Mr Segundus could feel the magic of his newly cast spells of protection, lazily trailing after him like invisible ribbons tumbling along the road.

While waiting for their colleague, the magicians helped to tame the crude map that Mr Segundus had been drawing, spreading out the disobedient paper onto a nearby crumbling wall. They even assisted in giving a few finishing strokes to his charcoal sketches, each participant feeling that their addition to the map was the most important.

‘I have the oddest sensation that I’ve already felt this place’, Mr Segundus suddenly told his companions, as they watched the gathering mist with wariness. ‘It has a particularly distressing presence that hammers at my head in a quite familiar way.’

 ‘Well it can’t be familiar’, Mr Taylor said, a trifle petulantly. ‘You’ve never been here. None of us have.’

‘I didn’t say I’d been _here_ ’, Mr Segundus replied indignantly. ‘I only meant that this place has the same effect on me that Starecross used to. While Lady Pole was abiding there, I could sometimes barely move around without help. It was as if my mind was operating in one reality, and my feet were threading along in another.’

‘I think the forest might be making you a bit out of sorts’, Tantony offered, shivering slightly. ‘I don’t blame you. It’s setting me on edge, too.’

‘Well, I’m not about to be intimidated by his wild claims’, Mr Taylor sniffed.

‘The same source of magic is near us - you must believe me! I can’t help thinking that Lady Pole’s existence between England and Faerie might have whittled out some new passage points between our two worlds.’

There was a silence, broken only by a murmur of cool wind through the fields. A lonely raven fluttered above them, looking bedraggled and wet.

 _Another confused visitor from England, perhaps_ , Mr Segundus thought briefly.

His eyes flickered back to his companions. They looked almost as agitated as he felt.

‘You don’t mean to say that one of these roads may be leading us right into -’

‘Lost-Hope’, Mr Segundus whispered.

His eyes were wide and fearful. ‘Yes, I do believe it.’

‘I think this observation concludes our merry outing’, the voice of Childermass grumbled, making all the magicians start with surprise.

He was leaning against the wall behind them, and his lean fingers were deftly folding up the map. He carefully tucked it into the pocket of his long coat.

‘We didn’t even hear you arrive!’ Tantony exclaimed.

‘Say, what _are_ you doing?’ Mr Taylor demanded, his voice thick with almost enough bravado to mask that he had been startled. ‘We’ve only just reached what could be an interesting discovery. We are by no means ready to leave!’

Childermass let his cool gaze sweep across the assembly of now loudly protesting magicians.

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen. Please come to your senses. Would there be any worse way to end our expedition than to enter Lost-Hope itself?’

The magicians shuffled, not quite meeting each other’s gazes.

‘But if we return now, what would I have to show for our efforts?’ Mr Taylor almost wailed, looking deflated. He was thinking of how annoyed Dr Foxcastle would be, if his prized acolyte returned with no gifts of arcane knowledge.

‘Apart from your life intact?’ Childermass retorted.

‘We could at least split out and give our theory a chance’, Tantony suggested. ‘Just a short walk until we see something. We would be cautious and return before the day is gone.’

‘I don’t know what to do, John’, Mr Segundus whispered aside. ‘I don’t want us to take risks. But if Starecross leads right into _that_ place, I’m the first person who wants to know.’

‘I don’t disagree’, Childermass replied, through gritted teeth. ‘But I am not keen on any of us being gifted with the same fate as Norrell and Strange.’

‘But _we_ would not go around provoking fairies in their domain!’ Mr Taylor pleaded. ‘If we met anyone, we would introduce ourselves as friends!’

‘Being befriended by a fairy can be equally unfortunate to being cursed by a fairy.’

‘Oh, I doubt _that_!’

‘Feel free to ask Lady Pole or Strange’s wife. Their opinion on the matter may surprise you’, Childermass smiled thinly. ‘We should go now and plan for later. We are currently safe: we must leave while we can.’

A loud creaking stopped their argument.

Mr Segundus gave a little gasp.

The heavy mist shifted and changed. A strange sight slowly greeted the magicians: long rows of ghostly figures, swaying in the wind and glimmering in the weak light.

They saw men and women and children, all of them as pale as spilt milk and as insubstantial as the rapidly cooling air. Their translucent, pearly-white faces watched the intruders from England with a grave impassivity. Some of the fog-people were adorned with broken armour and cruel-looking weapons, while others were dressed in deep mourning.

They were drawing near: they did not look ready to be introduced as friends.

‘Or about as safe as we can get’, Childermass muttered. ‘I do believe I spoke too soon.’

As one, the crowd of ghastly apparitions descended upon them.

Childermass flung open his coat and pulled out a pistol.

 _Not that it will be of much help_ , he thought grimly.

***

 

Mr Redruth had decided that he did not like his guide very much. It was avoiding all the clear paths and trudging through mud and weeds instead. He felt almost hopeless.

A cacophony of noise reached his ears. He heard the howling of wind, and more disturbingly, distant human yells.

‘What’s happening?’ He cried out, alarmed.

The little black thing shrugged and scratched at its ear, disinterested.

‘Nearly home’, it spoke, for the first time, and hurried its footsteps.

‘Oh thank Heavens for that!’ Mr Redruth said. ‘But please hold on, someone sounds to be in danger out there!’

‘You think so, do you?’

‘Shouldn’t we at least go see if they require any assistance?’

‘This is what we’ll do’, the little black thing yowled, ‘Hurry home afore that one awakes.’

‘What one?’

‘ _That one_ what’s trapped under the new hill’, the little black thing whimpered, jabbing at the vicar’s sides, urging him away through the golden meadows.

***

 

The magicians were scattering, closely followed by the maelstrom of fog-like figures.

Spells did not seem to be helping. It was only worse out in the open, where the fog hung even thicker. Childermass alone was putting up a game fight, though his teeth were chattering as though he was half-frozen to death. His long arms swept violently at any ghostly apparition which drew too near. Where colourless weapon or translucent fingers touched his flesh, a shock of cold jolted right to his bones.

The others seemed to be faring even worse. Someone was screaming, caught right inside the crowd of fog, his shrill wails only spreading further panic.

‘Wait!’ Mr Segundus called out. ‘Please, everyone! Where are we going?’

He tried to keep up, grasping desperately at swirling cloaks and coats, some of which dissipated through his fingers and left his hands feeling strangely clammy.

Mr Segundus stumbled. He felt his legs give way beneath him: he had time to inwardly curse his clumsiness, in a preternaturally calm sort of way, before he struck the road and cracked open the side of his face. He tried to crawl clear of everyone’s feet, but in all of the rush he was trampled and kicked aside.

It became difficult to think. His thoughts swam groggily; stones and skies and mist melded together, slowly blending into one vision painted by his pain and blood, until all he could see was the dark shape of a man standing alone against the eldritch moors.

The man gave him a sad smile.

When Mr Segundus finally came to, he was alone - or almost.

A raven still circled above him. Mr Segundus lay for a long time, curled up tightly and groaning. His forehead was bleeding and his satchel was torn. His letters and books were lying around, abandoned and muddied.

Wild-eyed and sniffling blood, Mr Segundus got to his knees, trying to bring himself back to his senses. He picked his things up slowly, ignoring how much his legs were trembling and how very cold he felt.

It occurred to him that he should see in which direction everyone else had gone.

He slowly turned, finding nothing but a deep fog entirely devoid of ghosts, the single raven, and the wretched King’s Road.

It was no use. He’d already lost them.

***

 

They had finally lost them! The ghostly crowd had dispersed, petering out into the fog with mournful sighs, losing interest in the magicians as quickly as their strange attack had commenced.

Childermass was dishevelled and dirty and shivering. One of his eyes was closed, already bruising: he had been struck quite soundly by someone’s flailing arm. He felt oddly annoyed. It was clear to him that they had all been herded away like mere sheep, for he saw that no one had been injured by any ghosts or ghouls, but by the chaos of their own hasty retreat.

The entrance back into England stood right next to them. His protective spells were still holding, which meant that the fog-people had indeed been mere air and shadows. Childermass snorted in disgust.

A few ravens had gathered nearby and were circling, cawing raucously as if mocking the sorry-looking assembly.

Childermass scowled at them, massaging his jaw.

He took count of the company. Nearly everyone had gathered around him, pale-faced and shaking.

Only Mr Taylor was far away, still running blindly down the road, his eyes shielded away from any dreadful sight by his overturned coat.

 ‘Stop!’ Childermass roared and broke into a run, despite already knowing he could not possibly reach the man in time.

Mr Taylor was heading straight towards the ravine.

‘Stop where you are, you dolt! The cliff!’

Mr Taylor did not appear to hear him.

With his heart pounding, Childermass swore and slowed down. The ravens chittered maddeningly. He aimed his pistol.

‘No, don’t kill the poor birds!’ He heard Tantony begging. ‘You’ll bring down _his_ anger on all of us!’

‘I’m not shooting at _them_ ’, Childermass grunted, steadying his hand.

The pistol fired, grazing Mr Taylor on the shoulder. He buckled and fell to the ground with a shriek. The ravens parted, reproachfully shrieking in a harsh imitation of Mr Taylor's voice.

Through the stunned silence, Childermass and the others reached the fallen magician.

Mr Taylor was quietly sobbing, clutching at his wound. A brief examination showed it to be a shallow hit. He would be able to walk.

‘Go patch him up’, Childermass told Tantony. ‘I need everyone else to try their best at a locating spell.’

‘Why?’

‘We are still missing one member. John Segundus is gone.’

***

 

The road ahead had come to an abrupt end, blocked by a tall mound of rocks and earth. It had a wild and dismal look, as if giant teeth of stone had chewed upon the landscape before spitting it all out to rot.

‘Oh!’ Mr Segundus cried out, halting in abject dismay. He had picked the wrong path after all, it seemed.

A thin trail of water trickled through cracks in the debris; where it flowed, there scant tufts of moss and creeping buttercups and forget-me-nots grew. They alone seemed friendly, bobbing and bowing in a slight breeze, as if greeting the unforeseen newcomer to this lonely place. Mr Segundus forced a smile and gave them a gallant greeting, worthy of any dancing floor in London. Appearances could be very deceiving in Faerie. It was important to be polite.

He fastened his coat closer to his neck, shivering: there was something particularly unsettling here. Although shrouded in eerie quietude, the mound was causing such a hum and buzz of erratic magic within Mr Segundus' head, that he almost felt ready to faint.

He wondered if he was not looking at a formation of barrows. Perhaps it housed untold treasures of Faerie, Mr Segundus mused, or served as a burial site for the revered remains of some esteemed person who had died travelling on the road. He shuddered at that last thought, his mind once more turning fretful.

Just as he considered retracing the road all the way back to where he had fallen, to pick out some other direction, a hoarse cry split the silence apart.

Mr Segundus whirled around.

The raven which had followed him was now perched on the tallest rock of the mound, cocking its head sideways, looking right through him with its intent black eyes.

The world around him seemed to shimmer and finally burst alive, stones and water and wind suddenly speaking, all at once - but Mr Segundus could not listen.

For a long time he could only look at the bird, mesmerised as if under a spell.

It appeared to be waiting for him.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the bird broke off his efforts by ruffling its feathers and flying over the hill, out of sight. Mr Segundus nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips.

He left the King’s Road and began the slow ascend over the barrow-mound, following the direction of the raven-bird's flight.

A gentle wind still pulled at his coat and hair, rife with urgent magic, whispering and whispering words he did not yet understand - and warnings he could not heed.

***

 

'That's enough!' Childermass said, sighing heavily. 'There's only so much that wishful hand-waving can do for us.'

The magicians around him stopped in their casting of magic, feeling miserable. They had not been able to locate John Segundus. Not a single spell had been successful. They spread out briefly, calling their lost friend’s name, but all the nearby roads were wholly empty.

A lone raven flew above them, calling out its hoarse cries.

‘Come to laugh at us again?’ Childermass asked, following its path with his eyes, his face twisting with some unknown emotion. ‘No, this time you are bringing us a different message.’

It was nearly dusk. The raven slowly circled the magicians - once, twice - and flew away from whence it had come. The mist still hung thickly and the long grasses around them rustled in the chill wind.

Who knew what lurked around Faerie at night?

‘It’s time to leave’, he told the expedition, sounding very tired. ‘Before we receive a fiercer warning.’

‘What about Mr Segundus?’ Tantony whispered in horror.

‘We can’t help him now’, Childermass said, sorrowful, gazing at the emptiness where the raven had been but moments ago. ‘Wherever he may be.’

***

 

Mr Segundus was unwell. A feeling was bubbling within, that the world around him was being tugged at from all sides, stretched paper-thin and in danger of tearing.

The path across the barrows was not helping to soothe him. With every step he took, wild thistles snatched at his feet, holding him down, slowing him more than the craggy hill itself. It was nearly nightfall: he was avoiding the thought of what would happen if he could not find a way back very soon.

'I do wonder', he murmured, trying to comfort himself, 'What all my friends will say when I write about my own experiences in Faerie? Oh, Emma and Arabella will be quite vexed with me for going! But everyone else will have so many questions…’

As he was easing out a particularly thorny piece of thistle from his trouser-leg, a glint near him caught his eye. Something was shining between the dull grey rocks, bright and blinding.

He knelt, leaning closer. There it was! A magnificent jewel, as brilliant as the sun itself, lodged deep within a crevice.

Mr Segundus considered getting a closer look. He bit his lip, hesitant to invite potential dangers and even more reluctant to let the unique opportunity pass. Maybe this was what the bird had wanted to show: something that would offer him some protection on his way.

He tried to lift the precious object out by magic, but it gave him too much resistance. Mr Segundus gave a small whistle. Something powerful indeed was down there!

This thought was not entirely pleasant.

He worked until he had dug a stepped hole to the very bottom of the crevice, in the process creating a tall cairn from the rocks he had floated away. If nothing else was to be gained from this venture, he at least knew that the cairn could later serve as a decent landmark.

With looming apprehension, Mr Segundus entered into the heart of the barrows. It was a dark and slippery descent.

A faint breathing seemed to echo around him.

It was but the wind sighing through the hill, he told himself.

From what little light the glow below could give him, he saw that something had heavily scratched at many of the rocks at this depth. It was as if the hill had been putting up a fight.

It was only old traces of animals making their dens underground, he told himself.

Mr Segundus wondered how he would proceed about unlocking the secrets of this magical object he had found. He only hoped that he was not wasting precious time by following a strange personal compulsion.

As he went down, drying oozes of a colour he could not name (as vivid as blood and as cold as moonlight) moistened his fingers wherever he touched the damaged walls.

It was just strands of lichen growing on the damp rock, he told himself, making a face. (It was getting slightly difficult to keep rationalising what he was seeing.)

Finally, he reached the gemstone: it glimmered merrily at him, despite all the loose pebbles and filth surrounding it. It was heavily damaged, yet beautiful enough to imagine around the neck of an empress or on the top of a monarch's crown.

Mr Segundus pulled firmly at the exposed jewel, unearthing it, and made a startling discovery.

The jewel was attached to a ring, which was in turn attached to a thin finger, which was in turn attached to a white hand - which grabbed viciously at him.

'Ah!' Mr Segundus yelled, falling backwards and almost dashing his skull against a rock.

His heart pounding, his mind reeling, and his bleeding face throbbing, Mr Segundus approached the frightful apparition, careful to keep out of its reach.

He gulped. His hands poised themselves, ready to cast all the spells of protection he could think of, meagre though their powers now felt.

It was indeed a hand he was looking at through the dim blackness: a living hand, still twitching faintly.

He supposed that, in turn, the hand must belong to somebody - indeed, to someone's _body_ still buried under the rocks.

He thought he could hear a muffled howling, as if something was in great pain.

Mr Segundus felt an unexpected stab of pity puncture through his fears. What a terrible fate to befall any creature! What a cruel predicament!

'I...' He quavered. 'I am here! Can you hear me?'

The hand reached out, trembling.

'Are you in much pain?'

The hand squeezed itself into a fist and pounded at the rocks, albeit rather weakly.

'Oh! Of course you are, of course... My apologies!'

Mr Segundus began to gently pry and clean around his ghastly discovery, stuttering further apologies at it, until his efforts revealed a pale thin arm.

The hand kept grasping the empty air, ceaseless in its desperation. There was something unnaturally tenacious about its energy; something was vile about its sharp claw-like fingernails.

He hesitated.

The words of John Childermass came to him then: it was but a poor magician who could not keep his wits about him in the face of the unknown.

'Tell me', he said, 'You look to be in very bad shape. If I should save you from where you lie trapped and take care until you are well, you must promise you will do no harm to me or my friends.'

A whine echoed beneath the rocks and the hand drooped sadly, as if to prove its owner was too exhausted to do anything, let alone wish his potential benefactor any ill.

'I do mean to help', Mr Segundus insisted. 'I just don't wish to be rewarded with any tricks or wickedness, understood? You’ll _have_ to give your word. '

The being beneath the rocks froze, silent and unmoving, appearing to give this proposal some heavy consideration.

'Now, now. Shake hands with me if you agree to my terms and we shall be good friends. I am ready to leave if you cannot. I may be too soft of heart at times, but I am not entirely brainless, you know.'

It thrust out its hand.

Mr Segundus held the hand and pulled, with all the magical force he could muster. The rocks peeled back, the barrows shook and broke.

The raven above him had returned, giving a single mournful call as it watched.

By then it was all already over. Mr Segundus sat, panting, exhausted by his efforts.

What he had rescued was unmistakably a fairy. It looked awful, as if it had been pulled apart and reassembled by an amateur. It had a sharp face full of matted, dirty fur; teeth as jagged as that of a fox, and a thin heaving chest. Its pale body was bruised and cut and broken, covered in tatters. Its breathing came shallow and laboured.

Its white hair was long and wild, sticking out like thistle-down.

Mr Segundus drew in his breath, filled with a slowly-dawning horror of realisation.

A silvery-red stream of blood and spittle was trickling from the fairy’s pale lips. On his mouth played a faint smile, as friendly as could be, but his cunning eyes glittered with something almost akin to malice.

'Good evening', rasped the gentleman with thistle-down hair.

'Good evening', replied Mr Segundus, lost for any further words.


	4. The Resuscitation of a Fiend Most Vile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to anyone reading!  
> So sorry for the late update: this chapter has been quite a bit of a struggle! (It is also the longest one so far...)

**Late spring 1817**

The mood at Starecross was sombre that night.

Childermass strode along the corridors, ignoring whispered discussions issuing from what seemed like every crevice of the house. To their credit, all of the magicians who had been in the expedition had decided to stay and help in any way they could. Yet their constant and somewhat exaggerated retellings of what they had seen in Faerie had only heightened everyone else’s imaginations.

Upon hearing the bad news, some of the visitors had left Starecross immediately. From the looks on their faces alone, Childermass could tell that several of them would never be returning to the Society’s meetings. He supposed it was for the best. It was one thing to daydream about the dangers of magical studies, and quite another to witness them personally.

Childermass entered a drawing room, his footsteps echoing loudly on freshly polished wooden floors. He tightened his lips. He had received a summons to appear there, delivered by a nervous servant instead of a fellow magician, which meant that heavy trouble was brewing in his direction.

This did not bother him too much: he only regretted he would be seeing the deep sadness in Mr Honeyfoot’s eyes so soon again. That kindly magician was sitting hunched at the table, with his head resting heavily in his hands. He had not taken the disappearance of his friend well.

 ‘Ah! So you have decided to join us after all’, Dr Foxcastle muttered, from one of the armchairs nearest to the fireplace.

‘Good evening, Mr Foxcastle’, Childermass gave a curt nod, draping his coat carelessly over a chair. ‘I was told you gentlemen wished to speak to me.’

‘It’s _Doctor_ Foxcastle’, the old man corrected him irritably, before continuing: ‘There is still the unanswered question of dividing the magical assets kept at Starecross - should Mr Segundus not return, of course. You see, Childermass, we have just been discussing the future of our Society.’

‘Have you now?’ Childermass said, approaching the fire without hurry. ‘Best you spare your efforts. We will be mounting a renewed search party before dawn.’

'You will be doing nothing of the sort!' Dr Foxcastle hissed, rising from his chair and stamping his cane.

'You have already done more than enough damage! In fact, I do think it's about time we revised your own status within this Society, _Mister_ Childermass!'

'Dr Foxcastle, please!' Mr Honeyfoot pleaded, weakly. ‘Now is hardly the time for quarrels!’

'Shooting a respectable gentleman! Abandoning another to a cruel end!' Dr Foxcastle snapped, shuddering with rage and shoving the cane into Childermass’ face.

'What exactly are your intentions, you vagrant? Do you intend to wholly ruin our Society’s reputation? Was it not enough you had to invite any manner of person to join? Oh, don’t think I haven’t found you out!’

Childermass observed this display in silence, the glint in his eyes becoming as hard as steel.

'Sirs!' A weak voice called out from the corridor.

They ignored it.

‘Pray tell me’, Childermass said slowly, ‘What exactly has your elderly brain been dreaming up?’

‘Dreams? Oh no! It’s become as plain as day to me. You intend to assume control over the Society by eliminating from it any men of higher standing than yours. It would suit a man of _your_ breeding to turn respectable English magic into a pastime for people such as downstairs servants and idle women and _brewers_.’

‘I thought I made that quite clear on our first meeting’, Childermass snorted. ‘Opening magic to any person with the inclination for it, that is the only way for us to move forward at all.’

‘For goodness sake!’

‘May I remind you’, Childermass continued, smiling like a wolf, ‘That if I hadn’t taken effort to lift Norrell’s ban, you yourself would not have been allowed to practice magic at all.’

‘I… I mean… That is beside the point! Listen here, it is best that you speak up about the truth now - or I will use any means necessary to uncover your scheming!'

‘Sirs!’ The weak voice called out again, this time in a shrill, breathless tone.

It was Mr Taylor, shuffling as fast as he could manage down the corridor. Tantony and Vinculus followed at his side, assisting the wounded magician into an old chair.

‘Please. Allow me to speak to them’, Mr Taylor told his helpers pleadingly. ‘Alone.’

Vinculus gave a mock salute and left. As Tantony followed, he shot Dr Foxcastle a rather belligerent look. The doctor reddened slightly. It appeared that the remark about lowly brewers had not gone unheard.

‘Mr Taylor!’ Dr Foxcastle abruptly turned to face his acolyte, his sour face softened by a sudden fondness. ‘You look quite shaken, dear boy! Do calm yourself. You shall be our first witness!’

‘Witness?’ Mr Taylor spluttered.

‘Why, has this man here not hurt you most foully?’

Mr Taylor began to sweat, his eyes darting from Dr Foxcastle’s eager expression to the stony countenance of Childermass. He opened his mouth. He closed it.

He seemed to be struggling through some sort of internal argument. Childermass pointedly glanced towards the mantelpiece clock.

‘No’, Mr Taylor blurted out. He winced slightly, more in apprehension than from the pain in his shoulder. ‘Mr Childermass saved me from a most terrible death.’

‘You told me he shot you while you were fighting off the attacking swarm of spirits!’

‘Not quite…’ Mr Taylor admitted with a groan, staring at the floor. ‘I was trying to run away. He only stopped me from throwing myself into what would have been a fatal fall.’

Dr Foxcastle was immediately mollified. He blinked several times in surprise. He worked his jaw rapidly, like an old horse chewing on bitterly hard oats.

‘Mr Childermass…’ The doctor finally whispered out. He turned away from his assistant with an expression of profound distaste. ‘I apologise most sincerely. If I spoke rash words, let it be known that I spoke only out of too much concern for dear Mr Segundus.’

The old magician huffed and hobbled away to his armchair, where he proceeded to glare daggers at Mr Taylor, until the poor young man almost slid under his chair in shame.

‘Of course, Mr Foxcastle. We all know how very fond you are of Mr Segundus’, Childermass commented, turning away.

 _Fond enough to immediately plan on seizing his assets_ , he added to himself.

Without a further glance at Dr Foxcastle’s scolding of Mr Taylor, Childermass leaned in to inspect the map-in-progress of Faerie. It was sprawled over the table, looking rather sad and empty. Someone had already marked out the place where the expedition had last seen Mr Segundus.

Childermass briefly covered that area with the palm of his hand. At the sound of the map rustling, Mr Honeyfoot finally looked up. He was quite ashen-faced and the very picture of distress.

‘We’ll find him’, Childermass promised. He was not by nature someone to show concern, but nonetheless he tried to find the right words to lift Mr Honeyfoot’s spirits.  

‘I know it can’t be pleasant for him out there’, he began. ‘All alone, under a dark and unfamiliar sky. Yet our John is a clever sort of fellow, Mr Honeyfoot. If it’s in his power, he won’t do anything unwise.’

‘He isn’t alone’, Mr Honeyfoot quavered, lifting his chin bravely. ‘He still has his friends, even if we are not with him. You are quite right that we will find him. I can feel it.’

Childermass smiled, though whether it was in incredulity or encouragement was anyone’s guess.

***

 

If anyone had divined to Mr Segundus that he of all people would be off adventuring through Faerie in the dead of night, with naught but bruises on his head and damp papers in his bag, he would have laughed right in their face.*

* _This was not strictly true. He would have merely expressed polite doubts, being too often ridiculed for his own soft-spoken opinions to wish causing any such embarrassment to others._

Yet even if Mr Segundus had known exactly what the expedition would bring him, he would never have imagined that he would be so accepting of his situation. Perhaps it was all the exhaustion finally catching up with him.

At least the King's Road was clearly visible, which was a source of some comfort to the intruder in this strange land. It gleamed against the dark wilderness, lit up by the glow of stars and the beams of a moon that was not there.

Wishing to rest a short while, Mr Segundus paused and tried to find his bearings. His heart rapidly sank.

The stars were all wrong.

 _This is not England's sky_ , he reminded himself sadly.

He stood a while in the darkness. Odd creatures that Mr Segundus could not see made noises through the thick undergrowth: soft growls and reedy chirps, snippets of musical humming and occasional painful screams.

‘Hurry up’, the fairy hissed, clutching at his shoulder.

Mr Segundus rolled his eyes and quickened his footsteps.

Assisting a battered fairy to walk along a benighted wood was difficult work, as he was finding out. He kept stumbling over rocks and tripping on plants, amidst exclamations of protest from his objectionable new friend.

‘Magician! Are you always so slow?’

Mr Segundus gritted his teeth. He had attempted to lift the fairy by magic, instead of having to help carry additional weight, but his head had begun to spin far too much to focus properly.

It was most unfair! Mr Segundus had drained himself out by breaking apart a hill - in a feat of the greatest magic he had ever performed - only to find he had saved a cruel and uncaring fiend. He avoided thinking about what Lady Emma Pole would say to him, if she ever found out what he had done.

With all of his worries and regrets working in tandem with his headache, it was unsurprising that Mr Segundus was not feeling very positive about the whole matter. Listening to a constant litany of orders and complaints was not helping his mood, either.

He stumbled his way around the tree trunk of a gigantic oak, which had spread its myriad roots over part of the road. He mumbled an apology to it.

‘Oh! Do walk more carefully. You are quite clumsy, you know!’ The gentleman with thistle-down hair exclaimed crossly. ‘Can’t I have a moment of peace to recover my senses?’

Mr Segundus bristled. He had been the one to suggest resting at the barrows or in the fields until morning. It had been the gentleman himself who had disagreed. The fairy had been quite adamant that they leave immediately, before the hill changed its mind about not killing him - or anyone from the surrounding woods saw fit to slaughter them. Mr Segundus had not enjoyed the images that his mind conjured up at this remark.

Upon some insistent questioning, the fairy had also admitted that he felt unable to fend for himself properly, should any dangers occur. Looking at the creature’s state, which better resembled a drowned weasel than a king of Faerie, Mr Segundus had privately agreed.

Thus they set off, man and fairy, both sneaking along as best as they could. The King’s Road in the dead of night was not an easy place to manoeuvre through unnoticed.

 ‘Let me go’, the fairy suddenly croaked out. ‘At once.’

Mr Segundus released the fairy, feeling immediate gratitude from his overworked muscles.

The gentleman crawled away to the side of the road, coughing and hacking harshly. His mouth gradually released a drizzle containing dark blood, sticky river sand, and several small pieces of rock. It appeared that the barrow-hill really _had_ been fighting hard to kill him. This information did not give the magician much peace of mind, regarding his decision to save the fairy. If the land itself did not tolerate the gentleman, how would he get along with people?

‘Oh dear, that sounded unpleasant’, Mr Segundus said aloud, looking away. ‘Was that the last of it, do you think?’

The fairy nodded slowly. This was not the first time he had been sick. Just after they had climbed out of the barrows, he had spat out a blood-soaked clod of mud. It had landed right onto Mr Segundus’ neck: a nasty little surprise that the man would not be forgetting in a long while.

‘Are you feeling well enough to walk on your own now?’

‘I will manage’, the gentleman retorted. ‘Though I have been much weakened by my ordeal.’

‘I can imagine! You look dreadful!’ Mr Segundus remarked, immediately regretting it.

Insulting the appearance of a fairy, even one that was more than half-dead, was not a very clever thing to do. Mr Segundus realised he was getting too tired to think properly. He thought that if he did not make amends quickly, he would have painful cause to lament his lack of judgement.

Judging by the loathing way the gentleman with the thistle-down hair was now glaring at him, the fairy himself thought so too.

***

 

The drawing room at Starecross was full of magicians, by which fact it naturally followed that it was also full of arguments and unsolicited opinions. Perhaps as a way to prove his own moral upstanding, Dr Foxcastle was now trying to mount a search party of his own.

The doctor’s newest suggestion was to fetch a platoon of soldiers from the nearest city, for he thought they would make excellent guards, while the magicians scoured the hills of Faerie for any trace of Mr Segundus. He offered that they should bring Mr Segundus’ books with them, to show that Englishmen always came armed with both knowledge and military keenness.

Childermass had opened his mouth to argue, but realised that he had not a drop of patience left to deal with fools. He retreated into a far corner instead, to confer with Mr Honeyfoot in peace.

‘The first thing we need to do is discover in which direction he might have gone. That could be more difficult than it sounds. The King’s Road twists away into so many directions, you see, that I fear we might have a hard time of it.’

‘But what else can we do?’ Mr Honeyfoot asked, pacing nervously. ‘You told me you could not find him by any magical means out there.’

‘It is possible he was hiding – or _being hidden_ – from us at the time’, Childermass said, scratching his unshaven jaw and thinking the matter over. ‘His situation may have changed since. You do know how to use a silver basin, don’t you?’

‘Yes’, Mr Honeyfoot set his chin firmly, trying to harden his voice into confidence. ‘Visions in the water are something we had both been studying recently. I… I will try to locate him.’

‘Good. Find a basin and meet me downstairs. I should prepare us to go, with a few sensible men, before that old goat Foxcastle thinks of yet another noble reason to loot books from the library.’

Childermass picked his coat up and quietly left the drawing room. Outside he met Vinculus, who had clearly been eavesdropping at the door.

‘So you think we’ll be seeing Segundus again?’ Vinculus asked, in a tone of airy unconcern, belying the curiosity glimmering in his eyes.

‘We shall know soon enough. You know, I might have a small task for you. It’s a simple enough matter.’

‘What is it?’

‘Just keep the doctor and any of his associates out from under my feet. You’ll find some way, I trust.’

‘Miserable bunch, that’, Vinculus spat. ‘I heard everything. _You_ , ruining the society you brought back together in the first place? They’re mad. That old monkey and the young pup, they’ll be making trouble for you again, mark my words.’

‘Perhaps. But Foxcastle was more than half-right, you know, about my own fault in this mess’, Childermass remarked. ‘I wanted to dupe the magicians into a safe little trip, but it looks like the Other Lands are having the last laugh at us all. Poor John!’

Vinculus shrugged. ‘Everyone was so greedy to go - you saw how they were in the morning. Now they’re secretly glad, that it weren’t them what paid the price for being curious. How long will it take everyone to see? The only magic that English magicians need to learn is right _here_!’

He thumped at his chest, indicating the Raven King’s book hidden on his skin.

‘We were forced out of Faerie today, Vinculus, by a bit of magic beyond any of our capabilities’, Childermass said, suddenly thoughtful. ‘I feel there is something greater at hand here, but what could it possibly be?’

A quiet sobbing downstairs shook them out of their conversation. Childermass indicated to Vinculus to keep quiet. Turning around the corner, they saw a small group huddling together near the kitchens.

Childermass immediately recognised Lucas and Hannah. They were servants who had both been in service to Mr Norrell, before magic had whisked him away along with all of his properties. Lucas had only been able to carry his cat out in time, or it too would have been lost to the spell of the Pillar of Darkness.

Both of the servants had gotten a position at Starecross soon afterwards, upon the personal recommendation of Childermass. They had proved a delightful addition to Mr Segundus' household, in his own words. People accustomed to working near magic without being distracted by it were a rare find indeed.

They were not calm now: their faces were tight with deep worry. Should a second employer of theirs vanish into mystery, Childermass thought their future prospects of employment would become rather slim. Yet their unhappiness was not entirely founded on that fear, for Mr Segundus had been fair to them, in a time when many people had regarded their unfortunate circumstances with suspicions and gossip.

'So it's true that he's gone?' Hannah asked tentatively. ‘Mightn’t he have just decided to stay on the other side a bit longer, and forgotten to tell you?’

Childermass grimaced. Her expression fell.

Vinculus had already gone outside through the kitchen door to stand beside Charles, Mr Segundus' footman. They were speaking excitedly in low voices. Vinculus motioned for Childermass to join them, holding out a mug of something that smelled like drunken apples.

Childermass waved the offer aside, grumbling something about the fragility of optimism fuelled by drink. He crossed the garden path leading towards the stables, wishing to fetch his horse Brewer.

An unexpected noise stopped him in his tracks.

A single bell was ringing out, with chimes so heart-rending that they reminded Childermass of every loss and every grief he had ever suffered through in his life.

He drew in his breath sharply.

His spells in Faerie were working. Starecross had received its warning.

Something perilous was making its way through into England.

***

 

The travellers were slowly approaching their destination, yet the gentleman was still refusing to speak to Mr Segundus. It made their walk all the more unpleasant, for the fairy’s offended silence and vicious glances would have made anyone quite nervous.

‘You must know I wanted no insult to your esteemed person?’ The magician said, almost desperately. ‘I only meant you are a little muddy and bruised. We both are, after all!’

‘Hmm’, said the gentleman, scowling dangerously. His clawed fingers were twitching, as if dearly wishing to call down some horrific fate upon the Englishman.

‘You’ll be as right as rain when you get back to your house and have a good wash. We shall forget all that silly nonsense I said, won’t we? Besides, I am sure you look delightful to your own kind, on any given day of the week. I really am.’

‘My _kind_?’ The gentleman asked. He halted mid-step and furrowed his flourished eyebrows. For a reason Mr Segundus could not discern, the fairy looked slightly anxious. ‘And how does my kind look to you?’

‘I couldn’t say’, Mr Segundus replied carefully. ‘I have not met any other fairies yet.’

‘Don’t I look exactly like all your English friends?’

‘Oh, that would be difficult to accomplish! My friends are very different to one another. Dear Mr Honeyfoot, for example, is all rotund homeliness and warm smiles, while Mr Childermass is tall and dark and often brooding - yet they are both equally fine men at heart. Don’t you concern yourself about appearances!’

The gentleman snorted in distaste.

‘But if I were to stand among a crowd of Englishmen right now’, he said doggedly, ‘Would you be able to tell me apart?’

‘Well’, Mr Segundus admitted, ‘You do look slightly less human, that is true.’

‘ _Less_ ’, the gentleman hissed. ‘I don’t want to look like something _less_.’

The fairy flexed his fingers with decisiveness. Mr Segundus stepped back in alarm.

‘So tell me, magician. Be forthright. What exactly do you see on me that isn’t expected?’

‘Ah. Well’, Mr Segundus gulped. ‘Well. Your hair looks rather like…’

He paused.

‘You know what, I do think that isn’t important right now. Let us say, for a start, that your eyes are perhaps larger and wider than those of anyone I know. You also have a very healthy coat of fur all over your face. It looks very, uh, striking. Well done!’

‘Be _quiet_ ’, the gentleman whispered, shutting his eyelids and wrinkling his nose.

A faint shimmer shook the air, like wind through spring leaves. It abruptly stopped.

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair slumped down, exhausted by his work.

Mr Segundus raised his eyebrows, impressed.

The fairy _did_ look better. Most of the injuries were still there and he was just as filthy as before, but at least the facial fur was gone. The face itself was now rearranged into features that - while still a little too long and bony to be considered handsome – at least looked doubtlessly human.

The fairy grinned up at him, evidently pleased with himself.

‘Oh! You missed one more thing – these should not be quite so sharp!’ Mr Segundus said, indicating towards his own teeth and lightly tapping at them.

‘Of course’, said the gentleman. He lifted his hands in a complicated gesture.

The air remained still. Nothing happened.

The fairy tried again. He made several abrupt movements with his long fingers, each more desperate than the last.

Still the night went on, without any sign of magic happening. A hare rustled past them through the grass.

 ‘Well’, Mr Segundus said, when he finally dared to interrupt. ‘Perhaps you are a little tired.’

The gentleman whirled around to face him. He looked absolutely terrified.

‘You must take me to England immediately.’

‘Oh no’, Mr Segundus stuttered. ‘I can’t do that. I’m so very sorry.’

‘Why ever not!’

‘I only said that I would rescue you. As soon as we get back on the road, which Mr Childermass kindly supplied with spells of protection, I will consider my part of our deal done. You are quite free to go to your own house - if you refrain from causing any of my friends further harm, of course.’

‘No! I can’t go back to Lost-Hope, not now!’ The gentleman with the thistle-down hair shrieked. ‘Can’t you see? I have no powers left to resume my rightful place there!’

‘Ah. I did not promise I would help you with anything of that sort. Your kingdom was not a part of our deal. I promised to rescue you and that is what I did.’

‘You also promised you would take care of me until I was well. Look at me! I am not well! I am in dire need of care. I am certainly not recovered, not by any means, not until I can do magic again.’

‘Please excuse my ignorance, but I cannot see how your capability to cast spells affects your general state of well-being. Most people can’t perform any magic at all and yet they feel perfectly healthy.’

‘Healthy? You really are as dull-witted as you are plain!’ The gentleman shivered and twitched in agitation. ‘What is _health_ to a fairy but his magical capacity? Why, I could pluck my own heart out and place it on a silver dish, to live in perfect happiness as long as I kept it awash with fresh blood. Could you say the same? I’ve been ground up into dust and meat, buried under a mound, and still I dug myself out!’

‘ _I_ dug you out’, Mr Segundus whispered. He added, more to himself: ‘Unfortunately.’

The gentleman with thistle-down hair tumbled into the grass at the edge of the road and lay there, dramatically helpless.

‘A fairy with no magic! Have you ever heard of such a thing?’ He gave a horrified whimper.

Despite himself, Mr Segundus felt some small measure of pity.

‘Please, I can’t take you to England’, he explained as gently as he could. ‘Do think about it, for your own sake. You have made yourself very unpopular there.’

‘You are as wicked a magician as those other two who ruined me! You know I will die most horribly and still you will not raise a single finger to help me!’

‘Who says you’ll be dying?’ Mr Segundus waved his hand dismissively, trying to persuade that this perceived calamity was only a minor trifle of a problem. ‘Such an ancient entity as yourself must have many allies to help you!’

‘If only! If I still had the wind and the earth to aid me, I would not have required _your_ help, would I?’ the gentleman said, through gnashing teeth. ‘You really don’t understand a thing.’

‘Then explain to me!’

‘My alliances now serve English magic again, not myself’, the gentleman whispered. He slammed his fists into the ground in futile outrage. ‘Oh, it is enough to make my blood boil!’

Mr Segundus eagerly took in this new information. The implications of it would be very interesting to discuss with the Society.

‘Do calm down. I’m certain that at least your relatives will welcome you back’, he offered. ‘They will be relieved that you are safe and sound.’

The gentleman stared and blinked, very slowly, as if trying hard to comprehend the ravings of a madman.* He then shook his head vehemently and rolled over, turning his back to the magician in a gesture of utmost defeat.

_*Due to the uncommonly long lives of fairies and the complexity of their family ties, the most common form of succession between rulers in Faerie has traditionally been murder. Many fairies have since abandoned their bloodthirsty customs, particularly in younger generations - yet for the most ancient and powerful of their kind, no level of paranoia has ever been too much. Thus if an important fairy falls gravely ill, or its magic weakens enough to leave its home unprotected, its best strategy often includes hiding away - hopefully well before any of its numerous relations come to visit.**_

_**A famous example is a fairy named Bristlebrock, who once transformed himself into a large mossy boulder to avoid a dangerous ambush. As it is difficult to keep track of time when one is a rock, he was only found twelve centuries later, when an explosion in a nearby mining quarry quickly prompted him to turn back into his natural self. His long absence had resulted in his dukedom in Faerie being taken over by a niece some centuries before, and the once-dense English wilderness which Bristlebrock frequented had since developed into the city of Birmingham. This news apparently resulted in the fairy assuming the form of a tawny owl and flying away in disgust, never to be seen again._

Mr Segundus did not know what to do.

He could leave while the fairy was busy lamenting his own fate, but he was afraid this could be considered as a breach in their agreement - and then what would happen, if the creature recovered his powers while harbouring resentments?

‘Come now, come’, he tried to calm the gentleman. ‘Let us be off. I will be right beside you until we reach the safe part of the road. Who knows, but you may feel much better by then!’

‘I shall truly die if you leave!’ The gentleman exclaimed, shifting from morose to furious within a single breath. ‘You are cruel, cruel, cruel!’

‘I am not!’ Mr Segundus almost laughed. ‘I only fear _your_ cruelty, should I let you loose in my village!’

‘You said we would be good friends, if I promised not to harm you’, the gentleman snapped, standing up abruptly and nearly bowling the magician over.

‘Are we _not_ friends?’

There was an ugly glint in the gentleman’s eye. Magic or no magic, promise or no promise, Mr Segundus suddenly did not feel safe near him.

‘Oh, rest assured, we are friends. We are! But I can’t take you to England!’

‘We made a deal. Are you abandoning me instead, to be hunted down by whoever finds me next? If that is your wish, you might as well have left me to rot under the hill! You _promised_ to help me’, the gentleman almost whined.

‘I did’, Mr Segundus sighed. ‘So I did. Very well. You may stay at Starecross - where you must abide by my house rules, mind you - until you have your magic back. The instant you have fully recovered, you must be off to your own home. Agreed?’

There was a long moment of tense silence.

‘Agreed’, the gentleman choked out, looking more miserable than ever.

The rest of their journey was made without any further quarrels, to the gratitude of Mr Segundus.

As they reached the protective spells on the King’s Road, Mr Segundus began to feel the magic under his feet: slithering like snakes and tickling like ribbons as it examined him. The gentleman with the thistle-down hair, on the other hand, seemed to be experiencing great discomfort. He winced with each step as he gingerly walked over the spells.

Finally, gloriously, the doorway into England shimmered in front of them. With a joyous cry he had not known he had been holding back, Mr Segundus leapt right through it.

Rain and wind greeted him. Such cold, dreary, thoroughly English weather! He laughed, drunk with relief, dancing a little jig under the overcast clouds.

As the fairy limped through the doorway, a mournful bell began to toll. Louder and louder it rang, as if signifying the arrival of a great and terrible danger.

The smile on Mr Segundus’ face froze.

There were the moors, thick with their fresh, familiar smells. There was the village, with its smoking chimneys and quiet street, sitting snugly against the low hills. There was Starecross, all of its windows lighting up as if in a warm welcome. Inside were his friends, his books and his future.

Mr Segundus sighed heavily.

He was home - yet he was bringing a monster into the heart of everything he held dear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Gentleman is the most difficult character to write. I have a little arc planned out for him, but he will continue being a pain to pin down, I am sure.
> 
> Since the topic of the story has this terrible fairy interacting with the ordinary world, are there any characters or situations you would like to see woven into the story?

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read this far, thank you very much! Any comments and remarks would give me life!  
> Let me know if there are any minor (or not) characters you would like to see and I'll see if I can find some way to include them into the plot.


End file.
